“Sleep over it, Glo. If you go to sleep with the snarl on your mind, you will wake up with it all straightened out. Really. Psychologists say so. Be careful where you hide your candy. I might walk in my sleep.”
“I wish the girls hadn’t done it.”
“Why?”
“Oh, sort of makes me feel foolish.”
“Silly. You ought to be tickled to death. That’s the loveliest box they had at Benwick’s. And besides, I’m sure they wanted to show you how they felt.”
“You mean that the country stigma has been condoned?” There was an even tone of mockery in this.
“Gloria Doane, you ought to be slapped.” Trixy sat up straight to say this and Gloria was sitting on the foot of her chum’s bed to rest up a little before trying to sleep. “You know perfectly well no one ever considered you—country.”
“Queer what a morbid imagination I have. But never mind, lamb. ’S’all right. I know you love me and—and I hope I can send a good report to dad. What else counts? And Jane comes on the morrow! Whew! I’d best be haymaking, or whatever it is Pat calls getting to sleep. Trixy, don’t you love little Pat?”
“’Course.”
“And isn’t Mary quaint?”